The Suspicion at Sanditon (Or, the Disappearance of Lady Denham) Read online

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  For Uncle Mike,

  one of my favorite storytellers

  Acknowledgments

  So many individuals have lent their support—directly and indirectly—to the creation of this book that now, given the opportunity to formally thank them, I fear accidentally leaving someone out. However, I shall attempt to mention here as many as I can.

  The best family anyone could wish for. Special mention goes to my daughter, who not only served as a sounding board when I plotted myself into corners but who also baked scones when Mom was on deadline.

  My editor, Kristin Sevick, who kept the faith through this novel’s numerous incarnations, helped me shape it into the story it was meant to be, and gave me the time necessary to do it. And her assistant, Bess Cozby, for her attention to and deft handling of so many details.

  My agent, Irene Goodman, a source of calm in a storm, humor when it is most needed, and wisdom at all times.

  Artist Teresa Fasolino, whose paintings so perfectly represent each Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mystery that I am happy to let readers judge my books by their covers.

  Tom Tumbusch and Leah Withers, for helping me reach readers next door and on the other side of the world.

  Fellow authors Maddy Hunter, Pamela Johnson, Victoria Hinshaw, Kim Wilson, Sharon Short, Ed Greenwood, James Lowder, Anne Klemm, and Joan Strasbaugh, who at various stages in the book’s development served as sounding boards, brainstorming partners, first readers, informational resources, and mentors. Also, my Wisconsin writers group, for renewing retreats and many years of community and camaraderie.

  Historical interpreter Kristopher Shultz, my on-call expert on eighteenth-century life, and reference librarian Chris May, who helped me track down chamber horse images and other obscure information.

  The staff of Our Lady of the Pines, where I wrote portions of this book while staying in an actual hermitage. Fortunately, it was not quite as rustic as Ebenezer Woodcock’s.

  The Jane Austen Society of North America, which for more than two decades has not only enhanced my appreciation of Austen and brought me into contact with experts on her work and the Regency era but also enriched my life with lasting friendships formed with members near and far.

  Friends Janine Borneman, Constance Crafton, Jean Long, Meredith Stoehr, and others who help keep the rest of my life in balance.

  Jane Austen, whose writing continues to entertain, inspire, and move me. Even after years of perpetual rereading, I cannot open one of her works without discovering something new.

  And you, my readers, for your interest in and enthusiasm for the series; for the praise, criticism, comments, and questions that have contributed to its development; and for the notes and e-mails that seem to serendipitously arrive on my toughest writing days, sharing with me how one of my books has touched your life. You have all touched mine.

  “Those who tell their own Story you know must be listened to with Caution.”

  —Mr. Thomas Parker,

  Jane Austen’s original

  unfinished manuscript of Sanditon

  Prologue

  “My early hours are not to put my Neighbours to inconvenience.”

  —Lady Denham, Sanditon

  A Gentleman and Lady, being induced by business to travel towards that part of the Sussex Coast which lies between Hastings and Eastbourne, entered the village of Sanditon little anticipating that the small but developing watering-place would become a scene of intrigue shortly upon their arrival.

  They should have known better.

  The Gentleman and Lady were, you see, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and his wife, the former Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Four years of marriage had brought them much happiness, including two dear children and an ever-increasing circle of friends. Yet it seemed that wheresoever Mr. and Mrs. Darcy went, some unexpected event was bound to occur. On a good journey, it was something vexing but tolerable. To this category, Darcy consigned ordinary travel inconveniences, less than ideal weather, and anything involving his mother-in-law. There had, however, occasionally arisen disturbances of a more serious nature, and Darcy fervently hoped that the present confusion would not number among them.

  A haughty sigh from the young lady near his side commanded his attention. For the third time in as many minutes, Miss Esther Denham’s gaze drifted to the sitting room doors. “Whatever can be keeping her?”

  The “her” in question was the dowager Lady Denham, mistress of Sanditon House, wherein was assembled a party of thirteen neighbors and visitors to the village—fourteen, if one included her ladyship, which unfortunately one could not, as their hostess had thus far remained absent from her own gathering.

  At first, the neglected dinner guests had been content to wait patiently in the main sitting room, with its view of the park in full summer and large portrait of the late Sir Harry Denham observing them all from above the fireplace. They were clustered in several small groups. Darcy stood near the hearth with Miss Denham, her brother, and Mr. Thomas Parker, the person in the house (other than Elizabeth) with whom Darcy was best—if not particularly well—acquainted.

  Across the room, Elizabeth and her friend Charlotte Heywood were immersed in a lively discussion with two of the other guests. Their conversation seemed of far greater interest to Miss Denham than the one in which she herself was engaged. Darcy suspected the fact that the participants included the party’s two most eligible single gentlemen had something to do with her diverted attention.

  Mr. Parker’s youngest brother and two sisters sat with another young lady on a sofa in the middle of the room, where they carried on a discussion of their own. The thirteenth guest, a gentleman of advancing years, sat apart from the others, occupying a chair nearest Darcy’s party.

  Many of the guests had known each other all their lives, so conversation flowed easily, although attempts to engage the lone gentleman met with indifference. Nobody seemed to know him, and other than being introduced as one Mr. Josiah Hollis, he appeared inclined to keep it that way. As Lady Denham’s first husband had been a Hollis, all assumed Josiah was a relation, although he did not bear much resemblance to the dignified miniature depiction of the late Mr. Archibald Hollis displayed in a corner of the room. Perhaps in his late fifties, Josiah was a thin man whose small eyes, long teeth, and grey hair lent him the appearance of a rat. Darcy might have pitied him this unfortunate rodential resemblance were it not for his equally unpleasant demeanor. He spoke little, studying the room and its occupants with the eye of a scavenger and an air of resentment.


  Although Miss Denham’s impatient query had been expressed in a voice loud enough to be heard by half the company, it was her brother, standing on her other side, who answered.

  “We all know that Lady Denham conducts herself on her own schedule,” Sir Edward Denham said. “‘Assoiled from all encumbrance of our time.’” The current baronet, Sir Edward had inherited his title upon the death of his uncle, Sir Harry, several years earlier. He had also inherited the family estate, Denham Park, where he resided with his sister.

  “Then she ought to have consulted her schedule and considered our time before designating four o’clock as the hour at which we were all to arrive,” declared Mr. Hollis.

  “While it is true that Lady Denham keeps her own hours, they are country hours,” Mr. Parker said. “She prefers her dinner and tea early, and planned this party accordingly. She must be insensible of the time.” He lowered his voice. “She seldom hosts events this large,” he reminded Darcy, whose invitation to the affair had derived primarily from the Darcys’ connection with Mr. Parker, as they had met Lady Denham only two days previous. “And she is seventy, after all. Perhaps she withdrew to her chamber to rest before the demands of the evening, and slept longer than she intended.”

  In the limited time Darcy had spent in Lady Denham’s company, she had not impressed him as a woman who, seventy or not, slowed down long enough for afternoon naps. Darcy, however, would not question Thomas Parker’s excuse. Josiah Hollis was less generous.

  “Insensible? Inconsiderate, more like it. How long have we been waiting?”

  Sir Edward’s hand moved to his fob pocket, only to find it smooth and flat. “I seem to have forgotten my watch.”

  Mr. Hollis released a sound of exasperation and looked pointedly at the chain hanging from Darcy’s waistcoat.

  Darcy withdrew his watch and opened its lid. “Most of us have been here nearly an hour.” Mr. Hollis, for all his complaints, had been one of the last to arrive, but comported himself so disagreeably that Darcy felt as if the gentleman had been there longest of all.

  Mr. Hollis scowled. “This delay is deliberate, no doubt. An attempt to remind us that she still has control of this house, after all these years. Well, I have no patience for such manipulation.” He turned to the young lady on the sofa—Miss Clara Brereton, the only other resident of Sanditon House. “Are you not supposed to be her ladyship’s companion? Why is she not with you, or you with her?”

  So startled was the young woman by his accusatory tone, that she could not immediately reply. A flush spread across her cheeks.

  “Here, now, sir!” said Sir Edward. “That is no way to address a lady. Will you apologize, or must you and I—”

  “Thank you, Sir Edward,” Miss Brereton gently interjected, then turned to Mr. Hollis. “Lady Denham said she had no need of me this afternoon. I was simply to make sure I appeared here in the portrait room by four o’clock.”

  “Like the rest of us. Hmph!” He looked about until he spotted the footman, who, like any well-trained servant, had been doing his best to ignore the developing quarrel and fade into the wallpaper. “You—inform Lady Denham that Josiah Hollis has done with her waiting game.”

  Miss Brereton rose from the sofa. “I shall look in on Lady Denham myself.” The mildness of her voice and manner admonished his rudeness more effectively than any barbed retort could. “I did not realize so much time had passed.”

  She quit the room, leaving behind an awkward silence that Thomas Parker intrepidly attempted to fill. “I am sure all is well,” he assured Darcy, “and I am equally certain that her ladyship’s delay in personally receiving us is not motivated by an attempt to manipulate anybody.”

  Darcy nodded politely, but his gaze traveled beyond Thomas Parker until it came to rest on Elizabeth. Her returning gaze reflected his own misgivings.

  He pushed them from his thoughts and attended Mr. Parker’s discourse once more. Were there trouble, they would know soon enough, and in the meantime he would not dwell upon it. For the next quarter hour, Mr. Parker and Sir Edward enumerated the attractions Not To Be Missed during the Darcys’ two-week stay in the village, while Miss Denham huffed, Mr. Hollis glowered, and the other guests resumed their own conversations.

  * * *

  On the other side of the room, Miss Brereton’s departure created a momentary pause in the otherwise diverting banter of Elizabeth’s party. Upon their arrival, she and Charlotte Heywood had fallen into conversation with Thomas Parker’s brother Sidney, and Sidney’s friend Mr. Granville. The two gentlemen were handsome in both countenance and manners, and Elizabeth could not help but notice the pleasure Charlotte took in their unexpected attention.

  “Miss Heywood, I leave to you our next subject of conversation,” Sidney Parker said. “What shall we speak of while we all pretend we are not wondering whether our delayed dinner will be served stone cold or overcooked?”

  “I believe the weather is always a safe topic of discourse,” Charlotte offered.

  “Oh, it is, indeed! One can never say too much about the weather; it is society’s greatest equalizer. Everybody from a ploughman to a prince may hold an opinion, and confidently state it with little risk of giving offense. There is usually general agreement as to whether conditions are fair or foul, too hot, too wet, too sunny, too grey; and where opinions differ, nobody has much need to prove himself right, for the weather will do what it will, and tomorrow the same conversation can be had all over again. In fact, I daresay we are negligent in not having already dispatched our social obligation to discuss it. How fortunate that we are standing so near a window.” He glanced outside. “The sky has grown overcast since we arrived. Mrs. Darcy, do you think it will rain?”

  “My husband and I are on a seaside holiday,” Elizabeth said. “Of course it will rain.”

  He laughed. “I can say the same for myself—Sanditon is never so wet as when I return for a visit. But will it rain today? What do you think, Miss Heywood? Mr. Granville and I have more than a passing interest in the matter, as we walked here from the hotel.”

  A low rumble spared anyone the necessity of a prediction. It was not a welcome noise, as Elizabeth and Darcy also had walked to Sanditon House. “It sounds distant,” Charlotte said. “Perhaps the rain will hold off until we are all safely returned to our respective lodgings.”

  “Are you always an optimist, Miss Heywood?”

  “Only after considering all the possibilities, and talking myself out of the worst ones.”

  As Charlotte spoke, Elizabeth saw Miss Brereton reenter the portrait room. From the anxious expression of the younger woman’s countenance, she did not think the news they were about to hear would prove at all optimistic.

  Miss Brereton scanned the room as if in deliberation, then headed toward Darcy’s group. She had just reached Thomas Parker’s side when Josiah Hollis caught sight of her.

  “Well, does Lady Denham intend to join us at all this evening?” Mr. Hollis’s volume drew the attention of all the guests, and conversation ceased.

  Miss Brereton flinched at his querulous demand. “I do not know.”

  Mr. Parker was more sympathetic. “As you have returned without her, I can only suppose something significant prevents her from joining us. Is Lady Denham indisposed?”

  Her composure suddenly breaking to reveal her distress, her gaze swept all the guests before returning to Mr. Parker.

  “Lady Denham is missing.”

  Volume the First

  IN WHICH IT IS RELATED HOW THE DARCYS CAME TO BE AT SANDITON HOUSE ON THE NIGHT IN QUESTION

  “I am not easily taken-in my Dear.… I always take care to know what I am about and who I have to deal with, before I stir a finger.”

  —Lady Denham, Sanditon

  One

  “Yes, I have heard of Sanditon,” replied Mr. Heywood. “Every five years, one hears of some new place or other starting up by the Sea and growing the fashion.”

  —Sanditon

  Our tale properly c
ommences a fortnight ago, in another part of Sussex, where a small but congenial company gathered at Brierwood House, the home of Colonel and Mrs. James Fitzwilliam. The Fitzwilliams were relative newcomers to Brierwood, for though the family of Mrs. Fitzwilliam—née Anne de Bourgh—had owned the property for generations, it was only upon the transfer of Brierwood to Anne three years earlier as part of her marriage settlement that the seldom-used minor holding of Lady Catherine and the late Sir Lewis de Bourgh became the primary residence of their daughter and her new husband.

  While the estate lay in a fair-sized parish, the house was remotely situated, standing so close to the border that its nearest neighbors were in fact part of the adjacent parish of Willingden. A collection of modest cottages hard-pressed to merit the title “village,” Willingden could boast little in the way of commerce or conveniences—not a shoemaker nor surgeon to be found. But Brierwood House soon became the Fitzwilliams’ home in all the best senses of the word: the place where they welcomed old friends and new neighbors into its rooms, and their firstborn child into the world.

  The colonel and Anne presently enjoyed a visit from their cousin Mr. Darcy and his wife, Elizabeth. The Darcys were regular guests at Brierwood, as the Fitzwilliams were at Pemberley, the Darcys’ home in Derbyshire. The two couples shared the most ideal of connections—not merely the accident of kinship, but also genuine friendship—and from the (predominantly) happy sounds that emanated from the nursery, where the Darcys’ three-year-old Lily-Anne and one-year-old Bennet played with the Fitzwilliams’ little Lewis, it appeared that relations among the next generation of cousins would prove equally amiable.

  The children were presently nestled all snug in their beds, napping in the care of their nurses while the adults anticipated the imminent arrival of some of the Fitzwilliams’ neighbors for tea.